Left to right: Will, Sam & Tom
Saturday, October 28, 2006
Thursday, October 26, 2006
Top Ten Things Motherhood Has Taught Me
10. No toy, no matter its price or popularity, is as much fun as the box it came in.
9. Males think farts are funny from the cradle to the grave.
8. Despite the noxious cloud wafting from your toddler's diaper, wait at least 3 minutes from the moment of discovery before changing him/her. You'll save yourself a diaper and only activate your gag reflex once.
7. "Faking it" means pretending to be asleep long enough for your spouse to give in and get out of bed when your child cries in the night.
6. After parenthood, "Sex, Drugs and Rock & Roll" translates to "Sleep, Chocolate and Raffi". There's nothing like dropping some Godiva, kicking back to Wheels on the Bus and just watching the walls drip.
5. Moisturize. The boobs are transient, but the stretch marks last forever.
4. A real friend asks how you're doing, then acts as if your hour long soliloquy on sleep deprivation, leaking breasts and sagging skin is completely normal -- Then she goes the extra mile by assuring you she was even more disgusting after her last pregnancy.
3. Call your own mother more than you think is really necessary. Someday you'll be the one waiting for the phone to ring.
2. Take lots of pictures and write down everything your kids say. It all goes so fast, and every reminder of these incredible days is precious.
1. Treat your spouse with love and respect. Your children are younger, smarter and faster; therefore, you need each other to survive. And growing old with someone who still sees you as the sexy, young thing they fell in love with is one of the greatest treasures you'll ever find.
9. Males think farts are funny from the cradle to the grave.
8. Despite the noxious cloud wafting from your toddler's diaper, wait at least 3 minutes from the moment of discovery before changing him/her. You'll save yourself a diaper and only activate your gag reflex once.
7. "Faking it" means pretending to be asleep long enough for your spouse to give in and get out of bed when your child cries in the night.
6. After parenthood, "Sex, Drugs and Rock & Roll" translates to "Sleep, Chocolate and Raffi". There's nothing like dropping some Godiva, kicking back to Wheels on the Bus and just watching the walls drip.
5. Moisturize. The boobs are transient, but the stretch marks last forever.
4. A real friend asks how you're doing, then acts as if your hour long soliloquy on sleep deprivation, leaking breasts and sagging skin is completely normal -- Then she goes the extra mile by assuring you she was even more disgusting after her last pregnancy.
3. Call your own mother more than you think is really necessary. Someday you'll be the one waiting for the phone to ring.
2. Take lots of pictures and write down everything your kids say. It all goes so fast, and every reminder of these incredible days is precious.
1. Treat your spouse with love and respect. Your children are younger, smarter and faster; therefore, you need each other to survive. And growing old with someone who still sees you as the sexy, young thing they fell in love with is one of the greatest treasures you'll ever find.
Tuesday, October 24, 2006
A Milestone
Jack started "school" today. Three days a week, he visits the Early Childhood Center of a local church and spends a few hours playing with other kids his age. He looked so big in his overalls and backpack, and even seemed anxious to return to the classroom we had visited with his dad a few days earlier.
He hesitated a moment at the door, not from fear, but only to choose which direction to take first. Upon noticing a playhouse in the corner, the decision was made. And he stepped in and began to play without a backward glance.
Recognizing my window, I slipped away and out to my van. I was nothing but proud of his behavior, and began to run a few errands while our sitter, Tessa, watched the triplets at home. The chores didn't take as much time as I had anticipated, and I realized I would need to return home and wait for about an hour until it was time to pick Jack up from school.
I was almost surprised to realize I had chosen a route home that took me by his school. Driving by, I had to fight to keep the wheel from turning and taking me to retrieve him. A glance at the clock reminded me he would be in the middle of his lunch, and with my resolve strengthened, I continued home.
It was only then that I realized I'd been driving around all day with a hole in my chest where part of my heart had been left behind. I had a silly moment of identifying with all the overprotective mothers of the world. Even though the church had done us a huge favor by finding Jack a space, I wanted to march in and tell them we would no longer be needing their services. I resisted the urge with difficulty, and wondered if I was a bad mom. After all, he obviously enjoyed playing with children his own age. And with all my additional responsibilities, he would often find himself parked in front of the television if he were with me 24 hours a day. Maybe I would have preferred a tearful meltdown upon my departure? One of those that leaves everyone around shaken and disturbed. Only a selfish person would choose either of those alternatives.
So I pulled it together, made it home and waited the full hour until pick-up time. I can't say I didn't check my watch more than was necessary. When I arrived, I was told Jack ate some of his snack and all of his lunch, played well with the other children, and only cried briefly during his stay. I sincerely wish he hadn't shed one tear, and hope those will be his last. Maybe I'm not such a bad mom after all.
He hesitated a moment at the door, not from fear, but only to choose which direction to take first. Upon noticing a playhouse in the corner, the decision was made. And he stepped in and began to play without a backward glance.
Recognizing my window, I slipped away and out to my van. I was nothing but proud of his behavior, and began to run a few errands while our sitter, Tessa, watched the triplets at home. The chores didn't take as much time as I had anticipated, and I realized I would need to return home and wait for about an hour until it was time to pick Jack up from school.
I was almost surprised to realize I had chosen a route home that took me by his school. Driving by, I had to fight to keep the wheel from turning and taking me to retrieve him. A glance at the clock reminded me he would be in the middle of his lunch, and with my resolve strengthened, I continued home.
It was only then that I realized I'd been driving around all day with a hole in my chest where part of my heart had been left behind. I had a silly moment of identifying with all the overprotective mothers of the world. Even though the church had done us a huge favor by finding Jack a space, I wanted to march in and tell them we would no longer be needing their services. I resisted the urge with difficulty, and wondered if I was a bad mom. After all, he obviously enjoyed playing with children his own age. And with all my additional responsibilities, he would often find himself parked in front of the television if he were with me 24 hours a day. Maybe I would have preferred a tearful meltdown upon my departure? One of those that leaves everyone around shaken and disturbed. Only a selfish person would choose either of those alternatives.
So I pulled it together, made it home and waited the full hour until pick-up time. I can't say I didn't check my watch more than was necessary. When I arrived, I was told Jack ate some of his snack and all of his lunch, played well with the other children, and only cried briefly during his stay. I sincerely wish he hadn't shed one tear, and hope those will be his last. Maybe I'm not such a bad mom after all.
Sunday, October 15, 2006
Friday, October 13, 2006
Sunday, October 08, 2006
Pale: The New Tan
You know how fitness experts claim a good cardio workout is one that gets your heart rate up for a sustained period of time? Currently, I'm able to do that by sitting very still and blinking slowly. Ahhh...the wonderful world of anemia -- it's not just for vampires any more.
I suppose after a triplet pregnancy, winding up short a few red blood cells was inevitable. However, my new workout regime of staring fixedly at a spot on the floor is starting to get old. I do count trips to the restroom as cross-training, but even I know that's stretching the meaning of the term a bit far.
I had every intention of continuing to take my prenatal vitamins for at least a couple of months after the boys came to head off just such a problem. But it's amazing the sort of things you can forget when in a sleep-deprived state. The first thing to fall by the wayside was make-up and hair care. Next on this slippery slope was allowing more than 24 hours to pass before showering. I've now progressed to a place I'd only heard of in rumors -- forgetting to eat. I have actually said out loud in years past that you had to be a special kind of stupid to forget to eat. Mama was right -- I really am special.
Up until now, eating had always been right up there with breathing -- one of those things you did without thinking about it too hard before, during or after the fact. I have even been guilty of eating something I didn't really like, then munching on yet another food item just to get the taste of the first one out of my mouth. These days, the world has turned upside down. The biggest bummer about the whole thing is that I'm not even losing weight. Apparently, there's some physiologic trick your body can pull on you when you consume below a certain caloric minimum. Essentially, you can eat so little that your body thinks you're starving. Therefore, anything that does make it past my lips is immediately stored on my already enormous hips. It's a cruel, cruel world we live in.
So now I'm actually scheduling time to eat -- just like those really skinny people that have such fast metabolisms that they accidentally lose weight all the time. Only I'm not skinny, couldn't lose a pound if my life depended on it, and am pretty sure my metabolism is roughly equivalent to that of a hibernating bear. Otherwise, almost exactly like those poor, pathetic skinny people.
Whew! All this typing has really gotten my blood pumping. I better go start my "cool down" routine of staring into space, followed by a quick nap. Happy hemoglobin, everybody!
I suppose after a triplet pregnancy, winding up short a few red blood cells was inevitable. However, my new workout regime of staring fixedly at a spot on the floor is starting to get old. I do count trips to the restroom as cross-training, but even I know that's stretching the meaning of the term a bit far.
I had every intention of continuing to take my prenatal vitamins for at least a couple of months after the boys came to head off just such a problem. But it's amazing the sort of things you can forget when in a sleep-deprived state. The first thing to fall by the wayside was make-up and hair care. Next on this slippery slope was allowing more than 24 hours to pass before showering. I've now progressed to a place I'd only heard of in rumors -- forgetting to eat. I have actually said out loud in years past that you had to be a special kind of stupid to forget to eat. Mama was right -- I really am special.
Up until now, eating had always been right up there with breathing -- one of those things you did without thinking about it too hard before, during or after the fact. I have even been guilty of eating something I didn't really like, then munching on yet another food item just to get the taste of the first one out of my mouth. These days, the world has turned upside down. The biggest bummer about the whole thing is that I'm not even losing weight. Apparently, there's some physiologic trick your body can pull on you when you consume below a certain caloric minimum. Essentially, you can eat so little that your body thinks you're starving. Therefore, anything that does make it past my lips is immediately stored on my already enormous hips. It's a cruel, cruel world we live in.
So now I'm actually scheduling time to eat -- just like those really skinny people that have such fast metabolisms that they accidentally lose weight all the time. Only I'm not skinny, couldn't lose a pound if my life depended on it, and am pretty sure my metabolism is roughly equivalent to that of a hibernating bear. Otherwise, almost exactly like those poor, pathetic skinny people.
Whew! All this typing has really gotten my blood pumping. I better go start my "cool down" routine of staring into space, followed by a quick nap. Happy hemoglobin, everybody!
Tuesday, October 03, 2006
Sunday, October 01, 2006
Home Again, Home Again, Jiggety Jog!
A successful prison break was achieved yesterday evening at roughly 6 p.m. CST. The convicted felons were smuggled out of Brookwood Medical Center's Neonatal Intensive Care Unit in newly purchased Evenflo pumpkin seats (prized by Respiratory Therapists everywhere for their adjustable crotch strap). The getaway vehicle -- a 2006 Odyssey -- has previously been described as "spacious" and "sexy". Three car seat bases and one front facing car seat later, neither term is as applicable.
O.k., I'm abandoning the newspaper theme, as I'm just too tired to keep it going. I sit here in my mismatched p.j.'s, accessorized with regurgitated formula and just a hint of baby poop -- anxiously anticipating my chance at the shower. I have long prided myself on never missing a single day's ablutions while raising Jack. Only 12 days into triplet mommyhood, and it's already been WELL over 24 hours since my last encounter with soap and water. Sorry world.
The babies are all doing marvelously. Feeding well and pooping well for the most part. One of the trio may have a date with a Q-tip and some vaseline later today, but I will allow him to remain nameless to protect his dignity. They are all absolutely beautiful, and look nothing alike. This doesn't mean they don't get called the wrong name at 4 o'clock in the morning, but certain failures of mom and dad can surely be overlooked in these early, weary days.
Daddy has been terrific about helping with feeds since we've been home. The only trouble is, it took only a couple of tandem feedings to have everyone waking at exactly the same time wailing for their formula with just a tincture of breast milk. ("Pumping is going just marvelously," she typed, as sarcasm dripped from her fingertips onto the laptop keys.) Since both Sam and Tom think pacifiers are a complete waste of time, and spit them out immediately in favor of crying for the real deal, I sense a challenge ahead of me.
For those who complain I haven't mentioned myself much in these updates, the facts of the matter simply are not pretty. Nursing pads are NOT fashionable no matter how you accessorize them. Although my belly button is making a comeback, it is now nestled among a road map of stretch marks, the likes of which I've only seen in TLC documentaries on multiple birth. So I guess it's normal. Although I've never EVER been brave enough to wear a bikini, I did allow myself 15 seconds of mourning over the fact that I will UNDER NO CIRCUMSTANCES ever be able to now. Obviously, a small price to pay for my beautiful brood. Add to that ankles that are still the size of softballs, and an inadvertent granola look owing to the fact that I don't have the energy to blow dry my hair or put on makeup, and I think the picture is pretty complete.
I generally try to wrap up with something catchy, but I'm only a few blips away from a vegetative state at the moment. I started this blog in the AM and we are now far into the PM with another feeding drawing near (by the way, the Q-tip proved unsuccessful, but at the next feeding Daddy drew the lucky diaper of the day, so everyone is now resting comfortably). Suffice it to say, we are all well and truly happy. And looking forward to years of chaos. I've snapped some new pictures, and think the boys are already starting to fill out. Hopefully, I'll get those on sometime tomorrow afternoon -- after taking a shower, feeding the boys, interviewing a potential nanny, driving myself to the doctor, coming home to feed the boys, having a nap, THEN I'll post the pictures. So be on the lookout!
Thanks so much for the well wishes from all our family, friends and other fans --even from those of you we've never actually met -- your e-mails of support and encouragement have meant so much. Love to you all!
O.k., I'm abandoning the newspaper theme, as I'm just too tired to keep it going. I sit here in my mismatched p.j.'s, accessorized with regurgitated formula and just a hint of baby poop -- anxiously anticipating my chance at the shower. I have long prided myself on never missing a single day's ablutions while raising Jack. Only 12 days into triplet mommyhood, and it's already been WELL over 24 hours since my last encounter with soap and water. Sorry world.
The babies are all doing marvelously. Feeding well and pooping well for the most part. One of the trio may have a date with a Q-tip and some vaseline later today, but I will allow him to remain nameless to protect his dignity. They are all absolutely beautiful, and look nothing alike. This doesn't mean they don't get called the wrong name at 4 o'clock in the morning, but certain failures of mom and dad can surely be overlooked in these early, weary days.
Daddy has been terrific about helping with feeds since we've been home. The only trouble is, it took only a couple of tandem feedings to have everyone waking at exactly the same time wailing for their formula with just a tincture of breast milk. ("Pumping is going just marvelously," she typed, as sarcasm dripped from her fingertips onto the laptop keys.) Since both Sam and Tom think pacifiers are a complete waste of time, and spit them out immediately in favor of crying for the real deal, I sense a challenge ahead of me.
For those who complain I haven't mentioned myself much in these updates, the facts of the matter simply are not pretty. Nursing pads are NOT fashionable no matter how you accessorize them. Although my belly button is making a comeback, it is now nestled among a road map of stretch marks, the likes of which I've only seen in TLC documentaries on multiple birth. So I guess it's normal. Although I've never EVER been brave enough to wear a bikini, I did allow myself 15 seconds of mourning over the fact that I will UNDER NO CIRCUMSTANCES ever be able to now. Obviously, a small price to pay for my beautiful brood. Add to that ankles that are still the size of softballs, and an inadvertent granola look owing to the fact that I don't have the energy to blow dry my hair or put on makeup, and I think the picture is pretty complete.
I generally try to wrap up with something catchy, but I'm only a few blips away from a vegetative state at the moment. I started this blog in the AM and we are now far into the PM with another feeding drawing near (by the way, the Q-tip proved unsuccessful, but at the next feeding Daddy drew the lucky diaper of the day, so everyone is now resting comfortably). Suffice it to say, we are all well and truly happy. And looking forward to years of chaos. I've snapped some new pictures, and think the boys are already starting to fill out. Hopefully, I'll get those on sometime tomorrow afternoon -- after taking a shower, feeding the boys, interviewing a potential nanny, driving myself to the doctor, coming home to feed the boys, having a nap, THEN I'll post the pictures. So be on the lookout!
Thanks so much for the well wishes from all our family, friends and other fans --even from those of you we've never actually met -- your e-mails of support and encouragement have meant so much. Love to you all!
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